falwa: Alinor, Summerset She never knew how it would be, returning here. It had been months, and som

falwa:Alinor,SummersetShenever knew how it would be, returning here. It had been months, andsomething inside her often gnawed at her thoughts when she was away,making her anxious about returning for no particular reason at all.But as she entered the hallway of Vinerest Manor and inhaled thefamiliar scent of grapes, old books and budding wisteria, the worryfaded away. She was home.Beforeshe could ascend the winding marble and mahogany staircase, a faceframed by silver strands peeked around the entrance to the kitchens.The cook smiled as he saw who had come to visit. “Welcome home,young miss. The lady is upstairs, if you were wondering.”“Iassumed so,” She smiled. “The terrace?”“Mhm.A new painting.”“Ofcourse. Thank you, Revrin. It’s good to see you.”Shemade her way up, and drank in the familiar sights. The statues ofmarble, the glow of the many sconces and chandeliers, the paintingson the cream-coloured walls. She made her way to the library, in manyways the pride and joy of the manor. Even the Sapiarchs were known topay the family of Vinerest a visit from time to time, to politely ask to borrow a tome or two. She walked past one of the scribe’s desks,and glanced over at the work on display. Lament of the Sea Drakes.A parchment full of scribbled notes was placed next to it. Her lipscurled faintly. Ironic. Her slender hand found the doorknob at theend of the hall. With a soft click, the door to the terrace opened.Vinerestwas built centuries ago on one of the southern slopes of Alinor, andthus had the perks of the relative peace and quiet of the mountainssurrounding Summerset’s capital. She inhaled deeply as she walkedacross the grand terrace – a garden ever in bloom, with roses,patches of poppy, young ivy, daisies, and of course the blue andpurple wisteria all around, in limestone flower boxes. She knew whereher aunt would be. At the back of the terrace was a pergola, hiddenbehind dense green hedges and a gateway of carved stone. For as longas she had known her aunt, she had gone there to paint during brightsummer days. Today was no different. She softly walked up the fewstairs leading up to the gate, and saw a slender figure in silks,standing in front of an easel with a canvas resting on it. She triedto be quiet, to not disturb the feather-light stroke of the brush,but it didn’t matter.“Welcomehome, little fire.”Thefigure turned around, and she looked into her aunt’s sea-grey eyes.Her welcoming smile would never change, nor would the soft sound ofher voice. She closed the distance between them and embraced theclosest family she had.“Thankyou, aunt Darthariel. It’s good to be home at last.” -- source link

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